


Naked As We Came

by klose



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klose/pseuds/klose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As it happens," he says, letting humour crinkle his eyes as his gaze flickers towards the other end of the table -- "I believe Dick would make a fantastic trophy wife."</p><p>Fix-it for for <a href="http://epigenetics.tumblr.com/post/28524784263/omgheadcanon-bruce-secretly-longs-to-marry">this headcanon</a>: "Bruce secretly longs to marry Dick, but after joking with him about it for so long he’s afraid Dick will say no. He can’t take the thought of that rejection and so he keeps the ring in his back pocket. It’s his father’s."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked As We Came

**Author's Note:**

> The song Dick sings within is "Living Loving Maid" by Led Zeppelin.

* * *

 

  
**ONE (like our sleeping children)**  
  
Once, when Bruce was a young boy, he watched his father open up the safe located at the back of the walk-in closet in the master suite. It was hidden behind the shelf of towels, which opened via a button located discreetly on the back.  
  
"Never put a safe in an obvious place, Bruce," Thomas had said proudly, pulling out a small key from a chain around his neck. Bruce kept his eyes on the key as it released the padlock on the outside of the safe. "Or trust too much in all that state-of-the-art technology hogwash. Sometimes the simplest methods are the most secure."  
  
Bruce's eyes widened as his father began turning a combination dial. They were close!  
  
"Are there treasures in there, Daddy?"  
  
Thomas laughed, patting his son on the head. "Yes, my boy. Not all, but some of the most important pieces are here."  
  
"Where's the rest?"  
  
"We have other hiding places, Bruce. Except for the most important treasure."  
  
Bruce lowered his voice to a whisper. "Where is that, Daddy?"  
  
"Why, right in front of me, of course," Thomas said, smiling wide.  
  
A frown creased Bruce's small face, before realisation dawned.  
  
"Me? I'm not a treasure!"  
  
"Oh yes!" Thomas drew the boy into his arms, and lifted him into the air. "You're our dearest, most favourite treasure, Bruce. Anyone who says otherwise will incur my wrath!"  
  
Strong hands tickled up and down Bruce's side, and he couldn't help squealing in laughter, shrieking happily for his father to stop.  
  
"Alright, alright," Thomas laughed, placing Bruce back on his feet on the floor. "We need to get our other treasure out after all."  
  
Bruce stood close to his father's leg, craning his neck to see his father brought out.  
  
"Alan Wayne's favourite pocket-watch... your great-grandma Kane's diamond earrings... and... ah. I haven't seen this in a while."  
  
A blue velvet box was ensconced in Thomas's hands, and he crouched down so that Bruce could see its contents: two rings, one more elaborately wrought and set with a large, glistening diamond, and another bigger, simpler band studded with smaller gemstones.  
  
"Your mother's engagement ring, and mine," Thomas explained. "And yours one day, too, if you want, Bruce."  
  
Bruce's mouth curved into a large O. "Mine?"  
  
"When you meet a nice girl, and think you'd like to marry her -- "  
  
"Girls have cooties," Bruce exclaimed, horrified at the thought.  
  
"You might change your mind about that someday," Thomas laughed. "And when you do, and you find yourself a keeper, you can use this ring --" he pointed at the shiny one with the large rock -- "To make your promise."  
  
Bruce frowned, skeptical of the thought. "What if I don't to marry a girl? What if I want to marry a boy?"  
  
Not that he wanted to marry a boy, necessarily, or even get married either way -- he'd have to get old like daddy and mommy first, and that was _years_ away.  
  
Thomas's smile didn't waver. "Well, then you can use this other ring." He tapped the plainer band. "Your mother had that designed for me, you know."  
  
"It's not as pretty as mommy's."  
  
"Perhaps not, but it fits me. And if either of these doesn't suit you, or whoever you end up deciding to marry, Bruce, you can always make your own."  
  
"Whatever I want?" Bruce asked, brows furrowed in a thoughtful frown -- a rather comical expression on an eight-year-old, but his father remained solemn.  
  
"Whatever you want. Now, let's get your mother's pearls out before she charges in here with complaints about my tardiness."  
   
\------  
  
**TWO (wake up)**  
  
Family dinners at Wayne Manor are rare, but usually rambunctious when they do happen -- that is, if Dick is around.   
  
"Hey, I'd be a great househusband!" Dick's on the opposite side of the table, and he sneaks a grin up at Bruce.  
  
Damian sets his fork and knife down with an outraged look. "Grayson, you cannot be serious."  
  
"He just wants to be on Real Housewives of Gotham," Tim says.  
  
Dick reaches over to tousle his hair, and is undaunted when Tim ducks away. "I think I could hold my own with those ladies."  
  
"I'm really not sure you can, Dick. They get pretty vicious."  
  
Cass is laughing in the background, and even Alfred has his say --  
  
"They do say that reality television is a lucrative career, Master Tim."  
  
Damian splutters. "Father, have you nothing to say to this?"  
  
Bruce makes a show of contemplating his answer, slowly swallowing his mouthful of food before drinking it down with water.   
  
"As it happens," he says, letting humour crinkle his eyes as his gaze flickers towards the other end of the table -- "I believe Dick would make a fantastic trophy wife."  
  
"Is that a proposal, Bruce?" Dick's grinning back, sharing the joke.  
  
"Father, I insist we drop this distasteful matter entirely."  
  
"Aww, Damian, we're just joking around. Don't worry your little head so much."  
  
"Tt."  
  
The conversation turns to the wonders of Alfred's chateaubriand steaks, and Bruce returns to his food, and his earlier silence. Before that, however, he glances up at Dick, and the smile they share fills him with warmth.  
  
"House husband?" Bruce asks later.  
  
Dick winks at him. "I have too much fun tormenting Damian. Call it payback."  
  
Bruce lets out a little laugh. It is a rare thing, his laughter, though never particularly for Dick, who has always known how to evoke it. Still, the pleased smile it draws out of the younger man is always worth it, and they're both in a good mood when they head down to the Cave to start their night work.  
  
\------  
    
**THREE (no use pretending)**  
  
One of the monitors in the Bat-Cave is set to permanently screen the local news channel, albeit on mute, and that night, the headline news on the ticker-tape is declared to be:  _Batman saves wedding!_  
  
Batman gives it all of a moment's attention, before turning away to strip off his armour.  
  
"Not the usual forte of the Batman, sir," Alfred says, picking up the discarded cowl and cape.  
  
"Not until Killer Croc takes an interest, no." Bruce pauses a moment to empty one of the compartments in his utility belt, sending its contents straight into one of the Cave safes.  
  
Behind him, Alfred sighs. "Master Bruce, I do wish you would consider leaving that particular item at home, rather than taking it out with you. It can hardly be safe or secure."  
  
Bruce grunts a non-committal response; he's not in the mood to thresh out this particular discussion yet again.  
  
"Or at least let it be put to its intended use," Alfred continues, paying him no heed. Bruce can feel the man glaring at his back, but he's determined to not react. There's another sigh, and the sound of footsteps walking away, but at least Bruce can shower in peace now.  
  
The hot water is soothing and welcome, a balm to the all the aches deep in his muscles. For once, he lets himself take a moment to breathe -- not quite enjoy the moment, maybe, but to let his mind blank out and think of nothing else but the steaming rush of water over his face and body, cleaning away all the hurts of that night.  
  
Dick would be proud, even if he'd given up on telling Bruce to relax years ago.  
  
Dick... if they were alone, would make a saucy remark about joining in. He'd turn the comforting hot spray into something sensual, and far more interesting.  
  
Dick, with his lean, lithe body pressed up against Bruce; rivulets of water all the while trailing down his muscled torso, splitting at his hip to continue down towards his thighs. His calloused hands carefully soaping up Bruce's body, left hand glinting in the light --  
  
Bruce exhales deeply, leaning against the shower wall as he tries to quell the sudden warmth pooling in his gut. He has been thinking far too much of Dick, of late.  
  
Of Dick wearing his father's ring.   
  
They've joked about it often enough, but Bruce doesn't know he'll actually say yes. The mere thought of even doing that is frightening, but the deep longing in Bruce's bones to keep Dick close -- still potent, despite all the years they've been together -- is even more overwhelming.   
  
Bruce scrubs at his face, before reaching for the body wash dispenser. As he lathers himself up, he can't help observing that it's far too dark and quiet in the Cave. That isn't new, nor has it ever bothered him before. More the opposite, even. But now Bruce find his mind contemplating the prospect of an alternative.

The alternative where Dick -- bright, sunny Dick -- is around on a more permanent basis, in a more permanent... partnership. After all, he's always balanced out Bruce's shadowy grimness in a way no one else ever has.

And maybe it's time to stop merely thinking about it, and time instead to start _doing_.

\------  
  
**FOUR (i'll keep breathing)**

It's that sleepy hour of the afternoon, right after lunch, when most people struggle to keep awake during school or work. It's also a good time go home for a nap – or to make a visit to Gotham Cemetery. With the sun blazing uncomfortably overhead, Bruce knows he'll be guaranteed privacy during his visit.  
  
Though he finds himself having to shuck off his suit jacket – having cut short his work day to make the journey – and drape it over one arm, while the other carries a bouquet of tulips in various two-toned shades. Red blooms with yellow-edged petals, peach-and-apricot spirals, magenta ones with golden edges; all of Dick's favourites in one huge arrangement. More importantly, they were Mary Grayson's favourites, too.   
  
When Bruce visits Dick's parents' graves on the anniversary of their deaths, he usually brings red roses, sombre and befitting of the occasion. Today, however, Dick's and Mary's favourite tulips seem more appropriate.   
  
The large, shared tombstone, sheltered by the spreading branches of a large rowan tree, is clean and cleared of weeds when Bruce reaches it. Good – he pays good money to have them well-maintained and cared for, after all. Crouching down to rest one knee on the grass, he carefully sets the flowers on the bottom ledge, right in the centre.   
  
It takes him longer to speak, even though he's been practising the words in his head for the better part of many months. He has never lacked for courage – never mind Batman, one could not survive Gotham without it – but kneeling here, in front of the graves' of Dick's parents, worry prickles his spine.   
  
In the brief moments he had met them, before that fateful Circus performance, the Graysons had come across as kind and gracious, easy with their laughter and smiles, full of love for their young son. Would they still smile, to see that he was with Bruce? Bruce, who had somehow earned Dick's boundless love and loyalty, and yet failed him so often?   
  
Bruce would not blame them their disappointment. Dick deserves better. Much better.  
  
But Bruce thinks he'll do his damndest to give it to him, because as much as he loves Dick -- and he can't deny that now, not after all the years they've shared together, as partners, romantically or otherwise -- he isn't selfless enough to let Dick go.   
  
Clearing his throat, Bruce touches the top of the tombstone. Despite the shelter of the rowan tree looming over them, the marble is warm to the touch.   
  
"He's a good man," he says, his voice a rusty whisper in the mild afternoon breeze. "The best. You'd be so proud of him. I know I am. And I know too that I've hurt him, so many times --"  
  
His eyes flutter close as shame fills him, more hot and stifling than the heat of the afternoon sun. Bruce takes a short, sharp breath, exhaling deeply. "But I – I promise to do right by him. For his sake. And both of yours. You have my word."  
  
He stares at the engravings on the marble, tracing out the etchings of Dick's parents' names in the stones, and the inscription below. After a moment, he lets go, nodding a little to himself.   
  
Bruce keeps a brief, silent vigil by the graves, before returning back home to the Manor.   
  
\------  
  
**FIVE (i lay smiling)**  
  
Batman never lets anyone -- not even Nightwing -- drive the Batmobile when he can do it himself. But Bruce has no problem with Dick driving one of his many sports cars. It's the Boxster that night, and the country roads, with their low traffic and wider lanes, suit it much better than any of Gotham's congested streets ever could.  
  
Bruce watches from the passenger seat as Dick drives, a carefree smile lighting up his handsome face. It's too nippy to have the top opened up while on the road, but they've got the windows rolled down, and the outside breeze sends Dick's choppy dark hair flying about. Bruce thinks he'd like to reach over and kiss every lock.  
  
He makes do with letting his gaze flicker to the shape of Dick's mouth as the younger man sings along to the song playing on the stereo.  
  
"♪  _Alimony, alimony paying your bills_... ♪" Long, slender fingers drum the beat on the steering wheel, and Bruce lets his foot tap along. It's enough to startle a laugh out of Dick, and when he looks over, Bruce allows himself an answering smile. Dick knows him better than anyone, except for Alfred, but surprising him once in a while is... enjoyable.  
  
They don't drive for long before stopping at a little town en route. It's a hilly sort of place, but not too quiet or isolated. There's a perfect spot for them to park the car and set its top down. To tip their seats all the way back, and appreciate the view.  
  
"I miss this," Dick sighs, reclining into his seat. "It's easy to forget that stars even exist when you live in Gotham."  
  
In Gotham, where there's enough light pollution to effectively cancel out the stellar expanse. Wayne Manor isn't quite far enough from Gotham to escape the effect entirely, though it's not like Bruce ever spends his time star-gazing, regardless.  
  
It's the sort of activity idea that only ever occurs to him when he's with Dick, and suddenly wanting to do things that aren't related to their night jobs.  
  
And that is a somewhat recent development: this desire to do things that aren't related to their work as Batman and Nightwing, respectively. Sometimes it emerges with Damian, or Tim, or Cassandra, but the feeling manifests most of all with Dick. To go out for dinners or lunches with him, to take him to the latest ballet, to --  
  
To pull out the ring in his pocket, and make an honest man out of him.  
  
But Dick's talking about something or other, hands gesturing because he can't ever keep still. An endearing quality in a child that didn't quite change as he grew into adulthood, and Bruce loves him all the more for it.  
  
And he loves him too much to ruin this easy comfort that has always existed between them, even when it was overshadowed by pain and struggle and Dick's leap into adulthood – a leap that was, perhaps, nowhere near as awkward or strange for him as it was for Bruce, who had to suddenly contend with a beautiful man in his house, his partner, his little acrobat all grown up.  
  
So rather than following his carefully laid out script, and instead ignoring the weight of the ring box in his pocket, Bruce lets Dick chatter on. Their conversation falls into the constellations mapping out the sky high above them -- Ursa Major, Scorpius, Orion, Cygnus.  
  
"Why is it named that, anyway?" Dick asks, as they discuss that last one. "It doesn't look particularly swan-like." He makes a gesture with his hands that is presumably supposed to resemble a swan, with its curved neck.  
  
"It resembles a swan in flight, with its wings stretched out," Bruce points out.   
  
Dick squints at the sky, tracing the shape in the air. Bruce's hand joins in, and their fingers lace together, drawing out together the silhouette of a bird in the stars.  
  
"I guess I can see that," Dick says, with a little lopsided smile. He lets their hands drop, but keeps them entwined. "Tell me about the Eagle?"  
  
Bruce squints upwards, trying to get his bearings sufficiently to locate the constellation. It isn't easy to find, but they seem to be in a good enough location for it, and his Batman-honed skills give him a sufficiently good sense of direction to manage without a compass. After all, gadgets won't always be to hand – one such as Batman has to be able to find their way by the stars alone.  
  
And if one has someone else to do it with -- all the better.   
  
"Hrm." Bruce uses his free hand to trace the intricate shape. "Aquila. The Eagle that snatched Ganymede."   
  
Dick's mouth tilts into a smirk. "Ganymede, huh."  
  
Bruce shoots him an unimpressed look, knowing exactly where this line of talk is headed. "You're not my Ganymede, Dick."  
  
"I dunno, handsome, affable young lover to a serious, older –" Dick ducks the hand falling down to swat at him with a laugh. "Okay, okay. Go on, boss, go on."   
  
Bruce, despite himself, lets out a short laugh, and continues his story. They go on like that, talking about stars and gods and myths, moving on to all sorts of topics. The night hasn't turned out the way Bruce had planned it, but it's more than worth it if this easy comfort between them continues unhindered.   
  
\------  
  
**SIX (inside these arms)**  
  
Dick's skin is hot and salty beneath Bruce's lips as he lays a trail of quick kisses down the long, muscled torso beneath him.   
  
"God, Bruce." Dick's voice is a breathy little sigh that gets right under Bruce's skin, making his hips snap forward in a sharper thrust. It's getting increasingly difficult to maintain any semblance of control; he's already growling Dick's name with every other gasp of air. There's nothing to it but to channel the heat and uncontrollable need rising up within him into his next thrust, making it longer, harder, deeper.   
  
A moan escapes Dick's mouth, and the sound is beautiful enough that Bruce forces himself to look away from the expanse of golden, glistening skin, and up. Dick's gaze is set on him, a dreamy little smile on his full lips. He is so achingly perfect like this -- blue eyes glittering, fists clenching and unclenching on the dark sheets beneath them, all strong muscles and lithe limbs, stripped naked and flushed. Splayed out and opened up, just for Bruce. Smiling -- all for Bruce.   
  
He never wants to lose this. To lose Dick. The thought sends a shiver of fear down his spine, but not enough to dampen his arousal, because what he does want is --  
  
"Dick." His fingers curl deep into the flesh beneath them, nails digging, as he alters the angle of his next thrust. Dick gasps, his back arching beautifully.   
  
"B-Bruce?" For all that his breath's coming out in short, fast stops between drawn out moans, Dick manages to sit up, writhing all the while. He takes Bruce's face in his hands, and presses their mouths together.   
  
Then Bruce is lost. In kissing Dick, licking his lips and sucking his tongue and swallowing up his cries; in tasting, feeling, breathing in Dick. What he wants is to have this. Forever, if he can help it, even if such a line of thinking is always dangerous.  
  
He wants -- he needs, so much, always him, only him --  
  
Bruce presses Dick back down on the bed, groaning deeply. His body takes over where his mind has given up control; their hips continue colliding in unfettered need, their mouths crashing together perfectly, over and over. The kissing stops Bruce from forming words out of stupid thoughts about weddings and engagement rings. And as his hand slides down to wrap around Dick's cock, the hoarse cry that pushes out of the swollen lips under his drives all other treacherous, dangerous ideas from his mind.  
  
All that matters now is this moment. Here, with Dick.  
  
\------  
  
**SEVEN (ashes round the yard)**  
  
Vehicles are kept in a separate section of the Cave, accessible through a flight of old stone stairs. Bruce and Dick, appropriately dressed and ready for a night of patrol, are starting down the steps to the Bat-mobile, when Batman says:  
  
"We should get married."  
  
The reaction of Nightwing, who is in the midst of describing his latest acrobatic feat, is immediate. If Batman were ever in a laughing mood, it may even be comical.  
  
As it is, he watches carefully while Nightwing's eyebrows shoot up over eyes as wide as saucers. All for a mere fraction of a second because, being caught out between one step and the next, Nightwing's foot slips. Nightwing -- who is always graceful and perfectly balanced, who never so much as trips unless severely wounded -- stumbles a third of the way down. Momentum makes him roll further along the way, and then again. He yelps once, twice, thrice as his body crashes repeatedly into sharp, jutting stone. He comes to a stop somewhere near the bottom, where he sits up, looking dazed.  
  
Batman stalks down the stairs, understanding too well – albeit, belatedly – that he has made an error. The most logical course of action would be to leave, immediately.  
  
Still, he feels the need to clarify, and he pauses at the foot of the stairs. "It would be... the practical thing to do."  
  
He only catches a glimpse of the shock flooding Nightwing's face -- poorly hidden by his mask -- as he sweeps over to the Batmobile in a flurry of cape. He doesn't waste time racing away from the Cave. Nightwing has his own bike, and can make his own way.  
  
\------  
    
**EIGHT (eyes wide open)**  
  
It's some weeks later when Batman makes his way to the roof of the old Wayne Tower. According to Oracle, Nightwing's comm had been abruptly cut, and Batman is the closest back-up. It's sheer adrenaline guiding him on the jump-lines as he cuts through Gotham's skyline. If Nightwing is hurt --  
  
He cuts the thought off before it can form, landing on solid ground in a run, ready to rescue his --  
  
"Easy, tiger."  
  
Nightwing's leaning on a wall by the roof access door. Distinctly well and unharmed. He's a sight for tired eyes, in many ways.  
  
As Nightwing starts to walk over, Batman tracks his movement behind the lenses of his cowl. Dick's gait is steady, limbs acting in fluid concert.  
  
"Alfred tells me you just got back," he says.  
  
Batman nods in reply, short and sharp. It was a JLA mission, off-planet. Upon returning to Gotham, Bruce had headed straight out on to the streets.  
  
A foot is all that keeps them apart, now, with Nightwing watching him carefully. "How did it go?"  
  
"The mission objectives were achieved with little trouble."  
  
Nightwing nods, seemingly more to himself than anything. A long pause follows, during which Batman carefully maps out his various exit plans. Under the armour, invisible to anyone looking, his shoulders tense.  
  
"I..." When Nightwing speaks again, his voice is unsure. He hesitates.  
  
Batman begins to move away, thinking to vault the west wall and thereby make his way to the Bay.  
  
"Bruce."  
  
The tentativeness in Nghtwing's voice is gone, and before Bruce can turn back, the other man is in front of him. The mask has come off, revealing Dick's bright eyes.  
  
"You're avoiding me."   
  
Batman does not respond. Perhaps his involvement with the mission on Titan had not been strictly necessary, but he does not need to tell that to Nightwing.   
  
"I've been thinking about what you said. Before."  
  
It's enough that, once again, Batman turns his eyes aside. After all, Dick can't see the movement through the lenses.  
  
"... And I think it's a good idea."  
  
Despite himself, Batman can't help returning his gaze. Dick's smiling, and he steps in to close the space between them entirely.  
  
"I mean, it's the practical thing to do, right?" His arms gently brace against Batman's, a tender touch despite the gauntlets barricading their skins.  
  
A short breath -- soft enough that it's audible only to himself -- leaves Batman's mouth. "You don't have --"  
  
"Shut up." Dick punches him in the shoulder. "I want to."  
  
The next protests are pre-empted with a kiss, Dick pressing up against him enthusiastically. Minutes pass before they pull apart; breathing on both sides a little more laboured. Bruce... has missed this. Having Dick warm and willing in his arms, and their easy chemistry falling into place as if they'd never been apart at all.  
  
Dick's fingers reach up to the edge of Batman's cowl, gently pushing against it. Unmasking while out is something that Batman does only rarely, and he is temporarily alarmed, but. He trusts Dick. They're partners, and Dick has never let him down.  
  
Once the cowl is off, Dick grins again, and makes to steal another kiss. Bruce gives it willingly, allows himself to enjoy the gentle pressure of those soft lips against his.  
  
This time, when they part, Dick removes his own gauntlets, and tosses them to the ground.  
  
"You running away for a few weeks turned out to be a good thing," he says, reaching up to the neck of his costume. "It gave me time to prepare. With Alfred's help, of course."   
  
From under his collar, he pulls out a silver chain. It's attached to a ring.   
  
"I've always... I've thought about this a lot. I just. I never thought you'd actually want to."   
  
Dick's words go straight in one ear, and out the other, because Bruce's attention is taken up entirely by the intricate ring held out on Dick's palm. A band, platinum by the looks of it, set with a row of three small diamonds set between two thin lines of resin inlay.  
  
It has to be an engagement ring, and Bruce feels like he's just missed the landing on a T-line jump.  
  
"I can't exactly keep a jewellery box anywhere in this get-up." Dick's smile is apologetic as he separates ring from chain. "But I wanted to get a hold of you before anyone else did, and this was the only way, so..."  
  
He clears his throat. "I thought maybe you could wear it. If you want. I mean --"  
  
Bruce interrupts his talking by taking off his gloves, and reaching out for the ring. Words have never been easy for him in any situation requiring emotional discourse, but... they aren't needed just yet.  
  
Dick's answering smile is blinding as he takes Bruce's left hand, and slips the ring on, pressing a kiss to the knuckle above it. "Looks good."  
  
And -- it does. It fits perfectly and sits on his hand as if it was always meant to be there. No doubt much of it is Alfred's doing, but Bruce can see Dick's simple, elegant taste in the entire design.  
  
Bruce takes Dick's hand, intertwining their fingers together. "I. I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did."  
  
To his credit, Dick doesn't feign ignorance. Instead, he pats the Bat sigil on Bruce's chest. "I know what you meant, B. It's okay." His smile is smaller, but his eyes are no less bright.  
  
_Of course_  Dick would say "it's okay". Of course he would, it's exactly the sort of thing he would do. He's just that gracious and forgiving, especially of Bruce. At least, he is until the moment he loses his temper and gets spitting mad. Either way, it's not alright at that very moment, because –-   
  
Because Dick is worth so much more than what Bruce has given him up to that moment. That's all there is to it.  
  
"Dick..." He pulls his hand away, to take something out of his utility belt. His hands are trembling. So are Dick's. The loss of control is enough to make him anxious, but Bruce thinks the fluttering in his stomach is something more than that. Nervousness, maybe. But that Dick's clearly feeling it too, helps. It means that they're both in this together, as they always have been.  
  
"A gift from my mother to my father," he murmurs, as he slides the ring onto the fourth finger of Dick's left hand.  
  
"Your dad wore this?" Dick asks, his voice soft and reverent.  
  
In an echo of Dick's earlier gesture, Bruce presses a kiss to the knuckles of Dick's hand, before turning it over to move his lips down to the palm, and then wrist. "Yes."  
  
The look on Dick's face seems new, at first glance, but as Bruce contemplates it, he realises it isn't at all. Dick has always been open with his emotions. In this matter, it is Bruce who has been a poor detective.  
  
He glances back down at the ring resting easily on Dick's finger. Many an early morning had been spent wondering how it would look, instead of catching up on sleep. But it is done, now, and he no longer has to wonder.  
  
His imaginings never came close to the reality, because there's a strange warmth bursting through him, at the sight of Dick wearing his father's ring. It makes him understand that this is a moment in which certain things have to be said. More so than any other they've shared, it is a time for... declarations to be made. Bruce looks up again.  
  
"Dick, I..." Words fail him at this crucial moment, as they always do. But Dick smiles, and squeezes his hand.  
  
"I know, Bruce, and I --"  
  
Bruce cuts him off with a kiss. Slips his tongue between those full lips, and revisits the taste of Dick's mouth yet again. Planes and junctures mapped out countless times before, yet never losing their sweetness. The familiarity, the comfort -- the sheer rightness -- give him the courage to pull away. To bring one hand up to cup Dick's face. He has to say this -- he needs to.  
  
Dick watches him, swollen lips parted in a shapely O. His blue eyes are wide, and Bruce doesn't think any picture or likeness can even come close to capturing the grace and beauty of the real thing. He tries to smile, tries to relinquish all his hard-fought restraint, tries to let go. To let everything show through in his words.  
  
"I love you, Dick." His voice is soft, so soft, and it breaks, but --  
  
Dick inhales in a long, shuddering gasp, his eyes falling shut. For one terrifying second, Bruce feels like he's free-falling, with no safety net in sight. It seems like nothing else he has done in his life has been important until this moment, right here, right now.  
  
His fear doesn't matter. He's spoken the truth.  
  
The thought makes the world tilt back into focus, even as Dick's arms come up around his neck, hugging tightly.  
  
"Bruce." It's a shaky sigh against his cheek. Dick keeps the embrace for one long, wonderful moment before pulling back, curling his fingers in Bruce's hair. He's smiling wide, a little watery, and Bruce's heart starts again.  
  
"I love you so much."  
  
They spend the rest of the night repeating those words in other ways. Together, under silk sheets, not using words at all.  
  
\------  
  
**NINE (naked as we came)**  
  
Past the cliffs that edge the furthest borders of the Wayne Estate, beyond the vast expanse of blue ocean, the sun rises over the horizon. It washes the sprawling fields and rolling hills behind the Manor in muted golden light. But even that beautiful dawn glow doesn't compare to the luminous brightness that is Dick. His smile, the laughter in his eyes, the ripple of his long, supple body as he walks with Bruce.   
  
No, not walk –- that is far too pedestrian a term to describe the balletic line of his movements. Any other time, Bruce would feel clumsy, lumbering beside the epitome of balance and lissomness that is Dick, but he's still basking in the warmth suffused in him from the night before –- all of it radiating from the diamond-set band around his left ring finger.  
  
Even though they're just talking a slow stroll, it doesn't take them long to arrive at the hilly grove lined along the cliff edge. It's close enough to the sea that the sound of waves crashing on the shore below rises up to fill their ears, along with the persistent squawks of seagulls. Unlike the final resting place of John and Mary Grayson, the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne are open to the elements. But they are just as well-kept, and certainly as frequently visited.   
  
When Bruce steps forward towards the tomb, Dick falls back. Still near, just off to Bruce's side; close enough for comfort. That's where he's always been; Bruce's partner, always there to be his safety net when he needed it. But Dick is his equal, always has been, and with the proof of it now lining each of their ring fingers...  
  
Bruce turns back, and holds out his hand. Dick raises an eyebrow, but accepts without hesitation, and Bruce leads them both up the final steps. He's brought Dick to this grove many times, and the rest of his family, too, on varying occasions. They've always stayed behind, though, allowing Bruce the space to speak to his parents privately.  
  
It's a little strange to talk in front of Dick, but there's no place for Bruce's awkwardness, not anymore. He's made himself too vulnerable for that. So he takes a deep breath of salty ocean air, and lets his words be taken up by the breeze, down to the crashing waves below.  
  
"I know haven't been around in a while. There was something I had to do, first." He squeezes Dick's hand, and is reassured when Dick squeezes back, and presses their bodies closer together. "And there's someone I want you to meet..."

 


End file.
